The Most Undesirable Second Life of Merlin
by causbelli
Summary: Merlin, reincarnated as a boy named Colin, lives a miserable, lonely existence in modern day New York City, until one day Arthur finds him, and they start out to finish what they'd begun all those centuries ago, complete with knights, witches, and DIDs.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, everyone's named after the actor/actress who plays him/her. It's not that I'm not creative enough to think of new names, it's that the visages of Colin Morgan and Bradley James can only be associated in my mind with either Merlin and Arthur or…Colin Morgan and Bradley James. XD Also, special thanks to arirawrs for letting me bounce ideas off her and helping me figure out the title. :D

Disclaimer: I does not haz owns.

xXxXxXx

_Part the First: How Merlin came to find Camelot Again_

_Chapter One_

Colin stepped off the bus and started down the sidewalk without even a glance about. A seasoned vet of New York, he no longer needed to pay attention to navigate its streets. He reached into his pocket for his iPod as he blindly tried to carefully fiddle his book into his messenger bag. A shoulder collided with his and the book fell harshly to the ground.

"Oh, you prick," he grumbled, stooping quickly to retrieve it. He recognized the perp. "Do you realize how delicate this book is, Will?"

"Do you realize how much I don't care?" sneered the other boy.

"Mm. Your wit is undeniable and positively dazzling." Colin made sure the book was secure in his bag before moving to walk away, sticking his earbuds in.

Will stepped in his way again. "Headed to the library, right?"

"I'm not writing your paper for you."

"You are unless you want a duck in your locker again."

"Joke's on you, Valiant, I like ducks." Colin was already a few steps away before Will called him on his slip.

"There, you did it again! What the hell's that supposed to mean, 'Valiant?'"

"Nothing," Colin said, hurrying away. He turned the music up, drowning out all sound. It was getting worse, not better. He wasn't growing out of it, he was growing into it. Was he the only one who remembered? Will sure didn't. He'd never been able to pluck up the courage to ask his mother, because if she did it would just confirm what he sometimes fervently hoped was his imagination, and if she didn't she'd think he was crazy, and he'd have to agree with her.

If only he could find him, start over, finally…er, finally set things right.

Colin shook these thoughts from his head, instead letting his mind focus on the dark hair flopping in eyes, a reminder that he needed a haircut.

The library wasn't far. Not a lot of time for daydreaming, which was good. Once there, Colin had to buckle down, get to business. He had a paper due in English, counting for nearly half his final grade. They'd been covering some of the classic literature in that class, and for his assignment he'd chosen to examine _Le Morte d'Arthur_. He didn't really need the library's assistance on this most obvious of choices, but he liked the environment. The hushed air, the sense of reverence. He loved sitting in the stacks, his homework spread about him (fuck tables) on the floor, and knowing that he was not the only entity in the world who remembered pasts. He was a walking history section, and he felt so alone in the modern world.

'Second lives suck,' he thought as he climbed the stairs to the third floor, where he lived. This was not the first time he'd thought this in his most undesirable second life.

One of the librarians gave him an odd look from behind the desk, but he remembered that she was new, and supposed it was likely rather unusual for a strapping young lad like him (ha) these days to spend at least a few hours each day in the library.

Shortly thereafter, he was in his usual spot, in the corner with the medieval works, and found himself wondering about a particular book. This was not the first time he'd wondered this in his most undesirable second life.

Yes, he loved books, and he loved the library. More than anywhere else. He felt at home among the history, and delightfully amused by some of the "fictions," but he sometimes felt the nagging absence of that one book, and he felt so guilty. The thing had been a gift, and he had to go and die and wait a thousand-and-some years to come back round, and now he had no bloody idea where the fucking thing was.

How was he supposed to learn it all again, the words and their purpose, how was he supposed to pick up where he'd left off if he didn't have the BOOK?

Arthur would know, Arthur always knew—

"Dammit, Merlin!" he hissed to himself. "Shut up, don't think his name!" It hurt too much; he missed him too much. How was he supposed to find him, anyway, without the book?

In a fit of frustration, Colin kicked at the bookshelf across from the one he sat against. He didn't realize that while the one he leaned back on was bolted to the wall and the floor, the other, freestanding ones had no such anchoring. The thing wobbled and creaked and started to lean towards him. He swore, and tried to scramble out of the way, but any escape was too far away. Books started to rain down, hitting him, and he dropped, rolled onto his back and felt that soothing rush of excitement he always felt when he accidentally did magic. The bookcase froze, as did the books falling out of it.

Colin looked around himself. He was practically buried in books. An entire bookshelf hovered over him. Its contents hung in the air above him. _He was in a public library_.

"Shit," he breathed. "Shit _shit_!" He scrambled to his knees (he couldn't stand up under the shelf) and tried to push it back into place, but it was way too heavy. "_Fuu_-_uu_-_uuck_," he shuddered in falsetto, looking around again.

He got to his feet, crouching beneath the suspended thing, and tried again to push the heavy wooden structure. "Come on, come on, please, please, please—!"

"Fucking hell!" Suddenly the shelf was moving, slowly, difficultly.

Colin looked at the man helping him—a blond boy, extremely fit from the state of his arms, pushing the bookshelf back into place.

"_Filleadh_," said the man.

"What?"

"_FILLEADH_, SAY IT!"

"Uh—_filleadh_!" The shelf sprung upright. Colin was stunned.

"Again!" commanded his savior.

"_Filleadh_," said Colin, throwing a hand motion in with it. The word felt right on his lips, the motion felt familiar to his hand. The books soared up into the air, rearranged themselves and settled onto the shelves, as if nothing had ever happened.

Colin looked at the man who'd just leapt to his rescue. "Who are—"

The man actually wasn't much older than Colin. His blond hair was short and well-kept, and he dressed subtly but nicely. His sharp blue eyes sent a shivering shock through Colin, like a static bolt to his heart. "Arth—uh, hello." Did Arthur know who he was? Did Arthur remember? "Uh, who—I—uh, who're you?" Oh gods, Colin didn't know if he would be able to handle Arthur not remembering.

Arthur smirked. "Like you don't know." He looked at the righted shelf and books. "Nicely done, by the way. You've still got the touch."

"Arthur! Arthur? You—Arthur, you remember?"

"Of _course_ I remember!"

"But—I can't—you just—" Colin couldn't string a coherent thought together. Arthur was back, Arthur was _here_, here with him!—Arthur remembered, Arthur had come and found him, Arthur knew the words, he'd read the book, Arthur had the book and had come and found Merlin! Unable to say a word, Colin lost all sense of the protocol he'd lived and died by in his first life and threw his arms around his long-lost king, finally sputtering, "Arthur, I can't believe it's you—thought I was crazy, thought they were dreams—!"

To his exceeding surprise, Arthur, instead of pushing him away and telling him off, hugged him so tightly his feet were momentarily lifted from the ground.

"I know, Merlin," he said into the would-be warlock's shoulder. "I've missed you, too."

xXx

So Arthur—well, he was Bradley now, wasn't he? Just like Merlin was equally responsive to the name Colin—was a student these days. At a Starbucks across the street from the library, the older boy bought them both coffees and they resolved to leave the place only when they were both satisfied with knowledge of the other.

"You're shorter than you were," Bradley commented.

Colin frowned. "You were never a Redwood yourself."

"Stop it, you'll grow."

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"You're one to talk!"

"No, sorry, um…" He thought about how to explain what he meant, even though he was pretty sure Bradley understood. "I'm third generation. You've got an accent."

"Well I think _you've_ got an accent."

Colin rolled his eyes but fought a smile. He loved bickering and bantering with him again. "You grew up in Britain. What are you doing in America?"

"I got a chance to come here, on exchange," he explained.

"And you jumped at it," Colin finished for him.

"Well I couldn't not. I mean, I knew you were here." Arthur-Bradley sipped his coffee.

"Wait, you knew I was in New York? How?"

"Mer—Colin, I've been keeping tabs on your family for centuries."

"Centuries?"

"Took you a bit longer than me to find your way back from Avalon. I've been running laps around the cosmic track since before good old Annie Boleyn lost her head." He smirked at Colin over his coffee, "But then again, you were always clumsy about things, weren't you?"

Seeing the smile, the eyes, the man, Colin felt the well-known, overwhelming surges of emotion he was amazed he'd fought in his past. How could he have been with Arthur all that time and never given in? How could he have valued anything, even their friendship, even Albion itself, over the chance to feel Arthur's touch.

"It doesn't matter now, in any case; I've found you. There's a flat waiting for us in London—"

Colin coughed, choking on his coffee. "You want me to go to London with you?"

"Of course," said Bradley. "I need you, Merlin."

Colin stared at Bradley; this man he'd met really just moments ago, and yet knew as well as himself. He'd known him for an eternity, and he'd loved him for just about as long. The old days, the adventures, there'd be a comment here and a glance there that would just feed Merlin's delusions of a secret _mutual_ love, and now Arthur wanted him to go to London with him. Could he handle living in the same apartment with the love of his every life? Looking, loving, never touching? A horrible thought struck him.

"Where's Gwen?"

Bradley bit his lip and looked down at the table. "She's a student, in California. She's engaged to Santi—ah, Lancelot."

Oh, how it must kill him to see her with him, Colin thought. Like it killed me to see him with her.

Bradley suddenly reached across the table and put his hand over Colin's. "I made a lot of mistakes that life, Merlin; I shouldn't have gone down that road. It ruined us, didn't it?"

Colin didn't know what to say. As usual, he was clearly misinterpreting everything.

"I made us easy prey. Mordred…in primary school right about now, by the way, and in film. That movie about Nazis, did you see it? Saw him on BBCone the other day, nearly pissed myself."

"London?" Colin murmured to himself. He'd always wanted so badly to go to London. He loved New York, and he'd be insanely sad to leave it, but Britain was home, and it had changed so much. He wanted to see it.

"Yes, London." Bradley smiled. "You can go to the university with me, if you like, we have connections, we'll take care of it—wait, how old are you?"

"Seventeen," said Colin.

"Ah. That does complicate things a bit."

"Hey, hang on, how old are you?"

"I'll be twenty next month."

It wasn't much more of an age difference than last time; maybe a year or two more, details could be fuzzy sometimes. But did this make Colin the baby of the group now?

Bradley sighed. "Of course, you just had to go sit at the kid's table with Mordred, didn't you? All right, it'll be fine," Bradley grabbed his jacket off the chair next to him and stood up, "let's go."

"To London?"

"To your mum's, idiot! I can't be implicated in a kidnapping!"

Colin scrambled to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and following Bradley out the door. "You're gonna ask my mom if I can go to London?"

Bradley was looking up the street. "Yes, all right? You're coming to London with me, I'll make sure of it, now calm down. You're practically squealing; you're such a fangirl. Taxi!"

"How are you going to convince her to let me go with you?"

"We're going to show her what you can do." Bradley pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

"It's a spell?" Colin asked as they got into the cab.

Bradley shushed him immediately, snapping, "No, it's a love letter, say it a little louder, would you?" He prodded Colin, who then related his address to the cabbie, and they were off.

"What does it do?" Colin whispered.

"It convinces your mum to let you come with me, that's what it does; don't ask so many questions."

"Don't be such a mysterious _prat_."

Bradley glared at the younger boy. "Do _not_ start this again."

"You're not king yet," Colin said, loving being able to hold that over him once again.

The older boy passed a hand over his eyes, sighing and saying, "I spent a lifetime bickering with you, Merlin, I don't want to waste another one."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

The whole floor smelled like warm cookies. Colin breathed in the scent, savoring it, already missing it. Of course, he had to go with Arthur, he _wanted_ to go with Arthur, but he'd miss his mother, he'd miss their apartment, he'd miss her cooking. He'd even miss his job at their bakery down the street.

He dug his keys out of his bag, self-conscious of Bradley right behind him. He didn't want to think that maybe Bradley was judging him, he didn't want to feel embarrassed by his apartment… Bradley was technically royalty, of course he was used to…better.

Colin shook it off and opened the door. He glanced at Bradley, wanting to say something, but for lack of something to say, he shrugged and walked inside.

"Ma?" he asked of the space.

"Colin?" called his mother from the kitchen.

"I'm home," he returned, dropping his backpack on the table near the door and shrugging off his jacket.

"Just in time, I'm trying a new recipe—I need you to sample them before I tell Joey to start making them for the shop."

"Coming, Mom."

Bradley glanced around the apartment as he followed Colin to the kitchen. Most of what he registered where photographs of Colin through the years of gap-toothed smiles and habitually untidy dark hair. He was wearing glasses in some of them. He paused to study one of the frames; it was recent, a few months old at the most. He was dressed in a black tuxedo and posing with what seemed to be a…violin, maybe?

"Bradley!" hissed Colin from the kitchen doorway, down the hall.

"Right, sorry!"

"Who are you talking to, hun?" asked his mother. Caroline pulled a tray of cookies out of the oven and set them on the grates on top. She turned, pulling off her oven mitts and froze when she saw the man in the doorway standing next to her son. "Oh."

"Mom…this is—"

"I know who he is," said Caroline.

"Wait—you know—what?" Colin was stunned. "Mom! You mean…you _know_? Like, you _remember_?"

"He's just a boy," she said to Bradley, ignoring Colin.

"I am _not_, I'm—"

"Child or not, you know what he's capable of, Hunith."

Colin's mother seemed to wage an inner battle for a moment, then sighed and allowed herself a small smile. "I'm called Caroline now. Come here, Arthur, I haven't seen you in ages."

He went to her easily and embraced her; at one time, she was the closest thing he'd ever had to a mother. "Call me Bradley."

Colin tried to contain his frustration, but it leaked into his voice, "Mom, what's—going on? If you knew, if you always knew…" Yes, he could have—and really, should have, asked her, but she also could have—_should_ have volunteered the information without being prompted.

Caroline nodded at the table. "We'd better sit and talk about this."

xXx

After a kettle of water had boiled and Colin had cleared the table of cookies, the three of them sat down to discuss the situation over tea.

"I can't believe you never told me," said Colin.

"Colin, honey, I'd hoped you'd never know."

"You can't protect him forever, Caroline," said Bradley gently.

"I'm his mother; I had a right to try." She sighed, and looked at her son. "I knew from the instant I laid eyes on you, that it was real, that you were…who you are." She put her hand over his on the table. "It wasn't a fate I wanted for you."

"So you kept me from it."

"Don't be angry with her, Colin," said Bradley, heading him off before he could even emotionally get there. "My mother did the same for me." He studied his mug of tea. "I daresay all our mothers did the same for us, and some succeeded; our numbers have diminished some. But it doesn't mean we don't know, every one of us." He looked up at Colin, some dark emotion in his eyes. "I may very well never lay eyes on Guinevere in this life." It nearly killed Colin to hear the strangled heartbreak only just reigned in. "But I know she'll remember me—today, tomorrow, years from now, one day she _will_ remember. We can't escape our destinies, but it is simple human nature to try our damnedest." To which Colin could think of no reply. Bradley looked to Caroline. "Balinor?"

"Dead. Five years now," said Colin. "Cancer."

"I see. I am sorry." He looked to Colin's mother again. "Caroline, I don't want to take him away from you, truly I don't. I'd see him freed from this destiny just as soon as you would. He's younger than I expected, and it makes this more difficult for everyone, but…he's needed."

"What's happening?" Caroline asked. "What's changed?"

"Nothing we won't be able to handle—with him, of course."

"You're dodging the question," she accused.

"You wouldn't like the answers, mothers generally don't."

"He's still in school, he's only seventeen."

"I'm fairly certain he's learned nearly everything he can learn from them," said Bradley, then, glancing at Colin, added, "As for the other skills he needs to acquire, I've got a little leather-bound book back at my flat that he's just been itching to read cover-to-cover."

"So you have the book?" asked Colin. "You really have it? Is it safe? What condition is it in? Have you had this whole—"

"I've had it since I stole it from the library of Hatfield House in 1548-I was 12—it's as perfect as brand new, and it's under lock and key at all times, waiting for you."

Colin exhaled tensely, already feeling the bliss of holding that tome that had become a very piece of him in his hands once again.

"Will you stay for dinner?" asked Caroline, bringing the conversation sharply in another direction as she stood.

"I wouldn't want to impose," said Bradley.

"Nonsense," she paused by him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder and kissing the top of his head, "you are always welcome here."

She all but shoved them out of the kitchen, insisting that they leave her to the cooking and "Go entertain yourselves for a bit."

Colin timidly gave Bradley a short tour of the modest apartment, showing him the small living room and the corner that had been dubbed "the library." It was really just a section of wall with built-in shelves and a comfy little window seat, but Colin had spent most of his life thus far in either the actual library or this little one, so it was more than suitable.

"And down there's the bathroom, and…that's it," Colin finished lamely, with a shrug. "Nothing special, but it's…home."

"What about that door?" Bradley asked, pointing. "What's through there?"

"Just my room—really, nothing special."

"I don't suppose you keep it any cleaner than you used to," remarked Bradley, smirking.

"I keep it nice and neat, thank you!" Colin said indignantly, and shoving the door open to prove it. "See? Not too shabby."

"Have you read _all_ of these?" asked Bradley in amazement, staring at the stacks upon stacks of books tidily overrunning the place.

"Most of them. When I get new ones, I move some of the old ones under here," Colin nudged the bed with his foot, "but I'm never really _done_ with any of them."

"I'll have to have bookshelves brought in for you," mused Bradley. "I hope your room is big enough, though I suppose you could always switch with Alex, I'm sure I could talk him into it…"

"What, do you have me in some shoebox?" teased Colin.

"No, I had you next to me—I figured you'd be more likely to side with me over whatever insanity the other two cook up."

Colin tried to force away thoughts that were…_undapper_, shall we say, at the knowledge that Bradley had planned to put Colin in the room nearest his own. As Bradley had said, it was strategic, a defense plan against the other flatmates—

"How many people are living in this apartment of yours?"

"At the moment, one; when we get back, three; when Alex's back from France, four."

"Who's Alex?"

Bradley smirked and started searching the bookshelf. "Where's your Arthurian collection?"

"What makes you think I have an Arthurian collection?" muttered Colin, but he went to his dresser and pulled out the bottom two drawers. "What exactly are you looking—" Bradley scooped a compendium out of the upper drawer, "—for."

"A good description of Lex, the historians always say it nicer than me." Bradley flipped through the pages casually, as if he'd read it many times before (and maybe he had, it was a popular anthology of his story), and stopped, saying, "Aha, here we are—'began as a servant to the king, with the promise of a quest and knighthood—'"

"No way!"

"Do not interrupt me, _Colin_," said Bradley, his voice dripping with over exaggerated annoyance. He cleared his throat and continued, quickly veering off-script, "'became one of Arthur's most trusted knights,' most _annoying_ knights, rather. And is currently trying to convince a young woman to ditch her school trip to Paris."

"You found her? Jeeze, what, do you just have, like, an entire CSI team looking for all of us or something?"

"No, we each do one at a time; she was his pet project," Bradley nudged Colin's shoulder with the book, "you were mine."

Colin fought a blush, "So…what now?"

"We eat dinner with your mother, and patiently wait for her to cave, then we're on a flight to London by…what's today?"

"Tuesday."

"By Friday."

The excitement coiled in Colin's stomach twisted. By Friday. By Friday, he'd be in London. By Friday, he'd be reading the Book. By Friday, he'd be living with Arthur again. By Friday, his world would start spinning on its correct axis once more.

"Hang on, what was this for, then?" asked Colin, pulling the folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

"Insurance."

"But what does it do?" Colin sounded out the spell, unthinking, before Bradley could stop him.

There was a clattering din in the kitchen and Caroline shrieked.

"Have you seen that Disney movie? The one about—well, about us, and there's the scene with the pots and pans and rubbish?"

"Ah."


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Somewhere in his mind, it registered that this was a dream. At the same time he doubted that, remembering that he'd thought to himself "I must be dreaming, this can't be real," when it had actually happened, and the whole dizzying effect of the déjà vu and the dubious reality just spun him around in circles as he watched the pike tear through the young man. But it wasn't over, this wasn't victory; with his dying breath, the boy struck, screaming a curse with drove the sword through armor, then chain mail, then flesh—

An enraged roar tore out of him, from somewhere deep and instinctive. It was too late. He could already see that it was a corpse he cried for. He could already feel the death of Arthur all around him.

Colin jolted awake, a panicked, "Arthur!" escaping him.

"Don't be such a _girl_, Colin, it's just some turbulence." Bradley scratched something into the puzzle book he'd brought with him. He was addicted to Sudoku, and growled at Colin whenever he teased him about it. He'd say "There are a shortage of dragons these days, I need to stay sharp however I can."

"Are we there yet?" asked Colin groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"We'll be standing on the queen's England within the hour."

Colin tried to stretch, needing to feel the relieving popping of joints, but the close quarters made it difficult. Feeling a bit more awake than he had just a moment ago, he asked (and tried to sound chipper, to shake off the feeling of the nightmare), "Are you excited to go home?"

"It was Salisbury, wasn't it?" Bradley asked in a low tone, not looking up from his puzzle.

"No," lied Colin.

"Stop it, it was Salisbury Plain and we both know it."

"What makes you think it was Salisbury?"

"What do you think _my_ nightmares are made of?" His brow furrowed, and he continued, "The clamor, the stench…the knowledge we were all about to die—Gwaine's head, split open next to me, the look on your face… I think we all have nightmares about it. What kind of men would we be if we didn't?"

The week had passed in such a crazed blur. Colin had barely had time to process what was happening, between packing his room up and frantically writing papers and taking tests to qualify for his end-of-the-year grades. He'd offered to stay the handful of months left before graduation, so he could walk and receive his diploma in person, just for his mother, but she'd hear nothing about it. She could see right through him, and knew how desperately he wanted to go to London, as soon as possible.

Now, suddenly, they were landing in London, moving into the apartment—he was finally going to find out who the fourth roommate was (Bradley insisted he would have to see for himself), and his most undesirable second life might end, replaced by the beginning of a highly desirable second life.

"Are you hungry?" Bradley asked suddenly.

"Uh—yeah, I guess so."

"I'm starved. We'll just drop our luggage at the flat and then we can go out to eat—there's this great Japanese place just down the street from us."

"Um—" 'I don't have any money, though,' thought Colin, 'none to spare, anyway—'

"I'm treating, of course," Bradley added quickly, as though he'd read Colin's mind. Colin made some noise of protest, and Bradley hit him with his puzzle book. "Shut up already, it's fine. You're employed by the Pendragons now, dinner comes with the benefits."

"What exactly does this 'employment' entail?"

Bradley laughed. "Get your head out of the gutter, Col, I'm hiring you as my Court Sorcerer. 'Course I don't really have a '_court_' at the moment…"

"Right," said Colin, feeling the dark, hot blushing from his neck up to his ears. "B-but I'm not a sorcerer yet."

"Ten minutes with that book and you'll be better than ever before," Bradley said, jotting in the last few numbers to solve the puzzle. "You always were a hell of a lot smarter than I gave you credit for."

Colin was trying to think of something clever to say, as if to prove Bradley's assumptions of underestimation correct, but the plane suddenly shook and jolted again. He clutched at the armrests, one of which was already occupied by Bradley's arm.

The older boy didn't react except to calmly remove the younger's claw-like hand from his arm, saying, "Funny; you always seemed to love darting about with Kilgarrah."

"That was before they invented turbulence, you prat." Bradley chuckled, and Colin couldn't help but forget his annoyance. "What?"

"Nothing, just—no one has _dared_ to call me that in a very long time. And then there's you."

xXx

The elevator halted, and the door opened. Bradley led the way, striding easily down the simply but classily furnished corridor. There weren't many doors in this hallway; not many people lived on this floor.

"I'll have a key made for you as soon as possible," said Bradley, fishing his own keys out of his pocket. "Until then, just don't go running off on your—" He paused, holding out a hand to halt Colin, "—own—do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

A minor crash resonated somewhere on the floor. "That." Bradley looked at the door at the end of the hall. There was the sound of glass shattering and the clamor continued. "Shit!" He dropped his luggage and ran toward the door, Colin close behind him. Swearing, he jammed the key into the lock and threw the door open. He nearly punched the wall. "FUCKING HELL."

Colin tried to nudge past Bradley to see what was happening.

"I THOUGHT THERE WAS A BREAK-IN OR SOMETHING," Bradley was shouting. The object(s) of his displeasure were apparently the two shirtless men having what seemed to be an epic battle in the living room, the remains of a glass-top coffee table scattered about them.

The larger, dark-haired man had the younger, blonde on in a headlock, and seemed completely unperturbed. "Bradley! You're back so soon!"

"I called, a week ago, I called and said I was coming home!"

"I must've been drunk—IS THAT MERLIN?" Gwaine shoved the younger boy away and bounded across the room to catch his long-lost friend in a bear hug. "YOU FOUND HIM!"

"I CALLED AND TOLD YOU—Fuck it, just fuck it."

"Don't say that, he'll take it literally," said the blonde boy, rubbing his neck, while Bradley continued, "You're useless, Eoin, abso-fucking-lutely **useless**!" When Eoin let go of the newcomer, he embraced him as well, saying "Good to see you, Merlin! Been a while, eh?"

"A bit." Colin smiled. He'd never have thought—Arthur, Gwaine and Garret, sharing a flat in London. How had they not all murdered each other? Or rather maybe, how had Arthur not murdered the other two? "Alex, right?"

"And the giant mass of idiot is Eoin," snarled Bradley, surveying the damage. "Seriously, what the _hell_?"

"We were _sparring_," said Eoin, rolling his eyes. "Jesus, calm down."

"You're paying for it."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"CLEAN IT UP."

"_Yes_, my lord," purred the other man suggestively.

"EOIN." Bradley grabbed—a pillow, of all things! off the couch and hit Eoin over the head with it.

"Oi, none of that!" Eoin grabbed the other pillow and struck back.

Colin looked on in frozen conflict (should he intervene—should he laugh, as Alex was doing?), as the once and future king and his most courageous knight battled with as proper form as possible using _pillows_.

"Is that even the coffee table that was here when I left?"

"Does it matter?"

"How many?"

"…Does it matter?" Bradley swiped Eoin's feet out from under him and pressed a foot to his chest to keep him on the floor.

"How many tables did you replace with my card?"

"We only used your card for three of them," said Eoin. "So…those are the only three you should be worrying about, yeah? Arthur, really, calm down—you're scaring the child."

Bradley rolled his eyes, but helped Eoin to his feet. "Why aren't you at the estate?"

"It's my day off this week."

"Lucky you; dinner at Oshiro, I'm buying, but you'll have to put on a shirt—both of you." As the other two scampered off, Bradley shot Colin a fatigued look. "If I don't say it, they honestly won't do it."

"Look at _you_, Mr. Responsibility, all parental and everything," said Colin as he and Bradley went back out into the hall to retrieve their things.

"I did bring together an entire country, you know!" grumbled Bradley as they dragged the luggage into the apartment. "I am more than capable of handling those two children."

"Well, at least you're not alone anymore—I can help you now," said Colin cheerfully.

Bradley scoffed "Like you could handle children."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm the father who disciplines them and you're the softie mother who gives them cookies."

"Hey why do I have to be the mother?"

"Well, I'm certainly not the mother."

"I wasn't the one having a _pillow fight_ like a middle school _girl_."

"No, you were just the damsel in distress trapped under a bookshelf." Bradley smirked. "Come on, I'll show you your rooms—my lady."

Colin attempted to hit the offending prat with his messenger bag (loaded to fatality with hardcover books), but it was too heavy for him, and he didn't even come close—unless by close you mean hitting _himself_ in the knee. "Ow…" he said weakly, stumbling.

xXx

It was like being at a family reunion, Colin thought; seeing people that you know as well as yourself, but have not seen for a very long time. You still know them just as well, but you've missed a bit of their lives, and in the relating of the information you feel as though you hadn't missed anything at all.

Alex, barely older than Arthur, was just as optimistic and intrigued as ever. Colin could still see in him the boy that they'd found in the kitchens of Camelot to replace Merlin as Arthur's manservant. And yet somehow that boy was overshadowed beyond recognition by the man who had fearlessly devoted his existence to Arthur and his cause. There was also something else that could not be hidden.

"So did you find Lynette?" asked Colin. The moderate din of the popular restaurant was more than enough to mask their conversations; they could talk about anything they liked. "Bradley told me you went and found her in France."

"Well…yes and no," Alex's face twinged, as though the thought produced pain he wanted to conceal, "I did find her—your age, American, named Karen, and luckily enough, in Paris on a school holiday. I went to get her, but you Americans are bloody protective of your young. I barely got near her. Besides," he took a gulp of his drink, "she doesn't remember."

Oh, how that must hurt… Colin thought. Garret and Lynette had been a fairy tale gone right, absolutely perfect for one another, especially once they'd realized it themselves. Trying to imagine Lynette with anyone but Garret was like…imagining Guinevere with anyone but Arthur.

"She'll come 'round, lad, don't you fret," Eoin assured him.

Eoin was still a child at twenty-four, and, due his lack of anything resembling work ethic, had a cushy job as a part-time bodyguard.

"The little witch is—well, she's a witch—but it's good pay for just keeping an eye on Daddy's little princess a few days a week," he said. His gaze shifted beyond Colin, and a smile cracked across his face. "Speak of the she-devil—"

Bradley groaned, "Oh no—!"

"You seem pleased to see me," said a petite, pale girl with dark, dark hair tumbling in waves down her back. She was absolutely beautiful to behold—but terrifying given the fact that she was—

"Morgana!" Colin choked out, nearly falling off his tall-legged chair in an attempt to put distance between them.

"Hello, Merlin," she smiled at him, with a devious glow all about her. She looked back at Bradley, "You didn't tell me you found him."

"I didn't think it would interest you much."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not as though we'll be arranging play dates, Katie," said Bradley scathingly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Dad's working late—"

"Gasp," said Bradley, deadpan.

"—so Rupe and I ordered take-away."

"Just glad it's not me," said Eoin, leaning back in his chair. "You never leave me any sushi."

"Liar."

"You're a sushi fiend!"

"She needs the extra protein, Eoin," said Bradley, "she's still hoping to grow a few more inches."

An infuriated Katie began punching Bradley in the shoulder, while he continued, fending her off and laughing, "Maybe one day she'll be tall enough to ride a roller coaster!"

"You're such an arse!" she snarled, but even she couldn't completely contain her laughter.

"This is so _weird_," said Colin, more to himself than anybody, but it still drew the others' attention. "It's—It's Morgana! She tried to kill us all—she _succeeded_ in killing most of us!"

"Can't a girl make a few mistakes?" she asked, all coy and sarcasm.

The look that came over Bradley's face when he looked at Colin, the tone his voice took—he was Arthur again, Merlin's wise, caring, far-too-forgiving Arthur, whom Merlin could never hope to match, he was so great a man. "It's been a long time since then, Merlin, and we have all learned a great deal from our many mistakes."

The words sort of hung in the air for a moment, the utter truth of it ringing straight into each of them, the background noise dulling to a hum… The table they sat at was square, but the feeling was unmistakably familiar.

It _was_ a family reunion.

"Right then," said Katie, and she mussed Bradley hair just to annoy him, "I'm off. Ta!"

Bradley smirked as he smoothed his hair back down. "She may be a witch, but at least now she's my witch."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This marks the end of everything I've already written (I'm transferring it over from LJ to hopefully get some feedback on it). I'll do my best to have the next bit up as soon as possible, which, while it can't be promised, should be rather easy seeing as I've already got a good chunk of it done do to some shuffling and editing here. :P

xXxXxXx

_Chapter Four_

Bradley kept an eye on Colin. The boy had never experienced jet lag before and it was going to hit him any time now. Surely enough, in the midst of Eoin and Alex joking about some shenanigan or another they'd gotten up to the handful of months Arthur had been in school in New York, the youth started to nod.

"Come on," said Bradley, who had nudged him. "Before you pass out," he added, trying not to laugh.

"I'm fine," Colin insisted.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, let's go."

He helped Colin lug the cargo they'd brought via airplane with them in his new quarters, decorated completely on a scale of royal blue ("Do you still like blue?" Bradley asked. "We can change it if you don't; I just thought it was a safe bet—you used to love blue.")

"Now what is _this_?" asked Bradley, hefting a large case into the room, the last of it. Caroline had suggested that this particular item be one of the things shipped to him later on, but Colin had insisted it go with him.

"Oh, that's Angelica."

Bradley paused, making a face. "Colin, I haven't gone over the house rules with you just yet, but I assumed 'no smuggling corpses overseas' was understood."

Colin laughed. "No, no! Here." He flipped the latches open and pushed the lid up.

"Is that some sort of mutant violin?"

Colin tried to shoot a glare at Bradley, but failed. "She's like a violin, but bigger. She's my bass. Ever heard of a cello?"

"Yeah."

"Basses are the next size up."

"And you play that?"

"Indeed I do."

"Any good?"

"Some people seem to think so."

Bradley sat down on the edge of the bed. "Play something."

Colin felt his ears go pink. "Uh, well—I don't—she's not tuned, and—"

A voice interrupted, calling from the foyer, "You're not naked, are you?"

"We're in here," Bradley called back.

"Question still stands." Eoin appeared in the doorway.

"Why do you always ask that?"

"Because one day I won't and I'll walk in on you naked!"

Alex poked his head in. "Hey, Col, how do you like your room?"

"It's nice," said Colin, smiling. "It's so big."

"Only the best for our sorcerer!" said Alex fondly.

Colin smiled, so glad to be back among them. He even forgot for a moment how tired he was, but apparently the weariness was plain on his face, because at that moment, Bradley stood up and said, "Look at you, you're going to drop right there. Get some rest—we've got a busy day tomorrow."

"His first day back you're sending him in?" asked Alex. "Let him have some fun first!"

"We don't have any time to waste." Bradley rolled his eyes at the other two. "Come on, let him sleep. Please don't make me sound any more like my mother."

Eoin pulled Colin into a hug, saying, "I missed you."

When Eoin let him go, Alex clapped a hand on his shoulders and, unexpectedly, kissed the corner of his mouth. "It's good to have you back, Merlin."

"ALEX!" exclaimed Bradley. "_You're going to scare the child!_"

"Rel_ax_, _Brad_ley, we're European," Alex said, ruffling Colin's hair. "Though I must admit, he's rather pleasing to the eyes."

"_Out_."

Eoin and Alex left, snickering at having set Bradley's classic temper off again.

"Sorry, but you know what they're like," was all he could offer in the way of apologies.

"It's fine. I missed it, actually." Colin looked away shyly. "I was wondering if you'd _ever_ find me."

Then there were arms around him, strong tan arms that had been gone from his life for so long, embracing him. "Merlin, I'll always find you, you idiot."

xXx

"Some of these are just too good." Katie snorted. "Like I'd fuck Arthur, _please_. Wouldn't touch him with a lance pole."

"And yet he escorted you to just about every feast in Camelot," said Colin. He didn't particularly like these afternoons with Katie. Everyone else seemed to have moved past what she'd done, but they'd had hundreds of lifetimes to do so. They couldn't possibly expect him to _forgive_ her for all the pain and death she'd caused in their first lives after just few weeks. Especially considering that while she'd changed her practices, she was preaching the same as ever. "I don't envy him that."

"Oohh, _burn_," she said sarcastically, flipping through the book. Colin resisted the urge to snatch it away from her and put carefully back in his Arthurian section. She was so carelessly ripping through it—did she realize that the thing was practically antique? Or did she think the yellow pages were simply decorative? She suddenly laughed. "Oi, here's a picture of you!"

Rolling his eyes, Colin rolled off his bed and crossed over to where Katie stood by the bookshelf. She held up the text to show him the sketch of the reed-thin, ancient man, hidden under a flowing white beard and hair to match, gnarled hands grasping a walking stick of twisted wood.

"The years have not been kind, have they?" she teased.

"Is that why you keep looking at my ass?" Colin asked, purposely invading her personal space. If he had to let Katie in to look at his books and entertain herself for an hour between school and one of the guys getting her to take her home ("_We won't be arranging play dates_," he'd said, the lying bastard), he'd at least have the pleasure of annoying her.

"Shut up," she growled, pushing him away.

Satisfied, he went back and sat back down on the bed. He picked up the book he'd been reading as carefully as if the thing were glass. _The_ Book. The thing hadn't left his sight in the three weeks he'd been in London.

"Can I—"

"No," he said.

"Just for a—"

"You know, technically, insanity can be defined as the incessant repetition as a certain activity with the expectation of a different outcome."

"You know, technically, assholery can be defined as fuck you."

"Yes, it can." Colin gently turned the page. He'd nearly memorized this entire section. It was coming back to him, more slowly than he'd like, but so much more quickly than would have been normal. He looked up to meet her glare. "This book is an extension of me. It was never meant for you."

She turned back to the bookshelf, scowling. "Whatever. Oh, you're a Potter nerd, are you? You're like a god to them, you _narcissist_."

xXx

"Bradley, are you listening?"

Bradley was not, in fact, listening. He was looking out the window, in the direction of the city he'd called home for what felt like (and was damn close to) eons. It wasn't that far away, just beyond those trees and he'd be able to see it… He had his chin in his hand and was absentmindedly twirling a pen with his rather unfortunate initials etched into it. He missed Excalibur.

"Bradley!"

The pen clattered to the floor as Bradley sat straight in his chair. "Right, sorry. Er…say that again?"

His father sighed, taking off his glasses and wiping them with a scarlet cleaning cloth very characteristically. "Bradley, I let you go to America—"

"'_Let_ me'—?"

"It's time to get serious, son."

"I _am_ serious!" said Bradley, and he nearly winced at how much he sounded like a petulant child. "Father," he started over, keeping his voice calm and even, but firm—he was the king, after all, not his father, not anymore. Not for many lifetimes. "I don't believe you understand what I'm trying to do here."

"You wanted to go and find the magician; you went and found the magician. Now we need to start thinking about the future, Bradley."

"Without Merlin, I wouldn't _have_ a future!" said Bradley. "Anything I accomplish will be directly tied to his assistance in some fashion or another, we learned this long ago! And I know where this is going, just stop. I'm studying history, and I will not let you bully me into switching over to business. I won't do it."

"When we spoke a few months ago you said you'd consider it," his father reminded him.

"Yes, I did, but if you recall, that was only because chances were so slim that Merlin was finally back."

"You can't just—"

There was a soft knock at the door and the heavy wood scraped against the floor as it was push open.

"Tea," said the intruder cheerfully, carrying a tray in and setting it down on the table between Bradley and Anthony. She had the same shining blue eyes and golden blonde hair as Bradley.

Glaring at his father, Bradley stood, saying, "Actually, I was just leaving."

The woman's smile fell. "But Bradley, love—!"

"Give Katie my love, I expect I'll miss her at the flat," Bradley turned and grabbed his jacket, slipping it on as he went around the table. "You should be resting, anyway." He pressed a kiss to the woman's cheek, said, "Bye, Mum," and made his exit without further delay.

Alice James fixed her husband with a disapproving glare.

"Alice—"

Silently, she picked up the tray and left again.

xXx

When Rupert finally showed up to take Katie home, Colin was left alone in the flat for an unknown amount of time. He was trying to feel comfortable there, but he still just felt like a guest, unless they were all watching television or eating dinner, or some other activity which allowed him to just fall back into their group dynamic.

To try and fill the place with some noise, he went back to his bedroom and started tuning Angelica. He hadn't practiced in a few days, which was the longest he could remember ever going.

It was comforting and familiar, the way she responded to him. Under his touch, with his guidance, she became an instrument of beauty, something good he could contribute to the increasingly bad world. It felt a little bit like magic, coaxing music out of silence. Maybe that was why he'd always loved it so much; it kept him connected to his destiny even when Fate seemed hell-bent on doing the exact opposite.

"That's very good," said a voice from the doorway, making Colin jump horribly and produce a jarring, screeching sound from Angelica.

Alex laughed. "Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to scare you."

"S'all right."

Alex didn't spend much time with the group usually, which apparently was a 'these days' characteristic. He kept to himself, and was normally asleep when the flat was busy with morning bustle. Colin had noticed that the shift curiously enough put Alex on a very Eastern Standard Time schedule.

Colin carefully set aside the bass. "Do you…need something?"

"No, you shouldn't—don't stop playing, it's lovely."

"I didn't wake you, did I?" Colin hadn't even known that Alex was home.

"You didn't, I got a call about an hour ago and I've just been…well, I heard the music and thought I'd pop in."

"Well, come in." Colin flagged him in. "Uh, any requests?"

"No," said Alex, sitting down on the chest at the foot of the bed.

Shrugging, Colin arranged himself and began to play again, something classical and regal. A waltz of some sort, maybe.

"You're very talented," Alex said after a while.

Colin felt his ears go pink. "Thank you." Things weren't supposed to be so awkward with Alex. In his first life, he'd gotten on exceedingly well with Garrett. After all, when Arthur became King and Merlin's duties had just gotten to be too much for one person, Garrett was hired to help him. He remembered how Gwaine had begged Merlin to give the boy the job ("Please, Merlin, I've known him his whole life, he's like a brother to me—he wants to be a knight, just get his foot in the door, please,") and how Merlin himself had coached Garrett through learning to deal with Arthur—and Lynette.

Yes, Lynette. That was the wrench in the works now.

"It was about her, wasn't it? The phone call."

Alex nodded. "The others are in Canada, I'm trying to talk them into checking on her for me."

"The others?"

"Oh, uh—Elyan, Percival."

"What are they doing in Canada?"

"Looking for dragons."

"Oh," said Colin, taken aback. He'd thought the race had died with Kilgarrah—but then, had Kilgarrah even died? None of them had stuck around long enough to find out way back when.

"She's ignorant, and that makes her vulnerable," said Alex miserably. "I—I thought I finally had her back."

"How long's it been?" Bradley, Alex, Eoin and the others Colin had seen since coming to London had lived countless times before, but he was learning that they'd had to deal with rather sparse ranks for much of that time.

"Salisbury."

Colin made a noise of surprise. "_Really?_" Alex nodded. "Fuck. That—wow. And…exactly how many lifetimes have you—"

Alex fixed him with a withering gaze, and the age of his soul was reflected so clearly in his eyes, it made Colin's stomach twist.

"I," he said, in a voice that was hoarse from his fucked up sleeping patterns and the utter hopelessness he was clearly drowning in, a voice to go with his ancient eyes, "have been living back-to-back lifetimes since Salisbury. Death, conception, within an instant of each other. Sometimes I don't live long—sometimes I don't make it to birth. But I've never left this earth, not once. I've never seen Avalon. I've never known rest. And since Salisbury, I've never seen her." He scraped a hand through his hair, a sigh shuddering out of him. "I'm going mad, Colin, absolutely stark-raving mad. I can't sleep, I can't eat," He did look a bit leaner than he did before his mood had dive-bombed since they'd all reconvened in London, Colin noticed, "I just—I saw her, I set eyes on her for the first time in nearly a thousand years. I…I'd forgotten just how much I love her. _And now I can't have her._"

He shook his head, as if it didn't make sense—which, really, it didn't. He seemed to suddenly realize everything he was saying, and he stood up, saying, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to burden you with all this. I just—I'm sorry."

"No, Alex—" But he was gone, already, and Colin heard the jingle of keys being snatched from the bowl by the door, and then that same door creaking open and clunking shut. "Fuck."

xXx

When Alex came back later that night, as Colin was reading on the couch and Eoin and Bradley were sparring in the weight room, Colin didn't immediately say anything. A look passed between them and Colin stuck his finger in the book to mark his page.

"It's still me, Alex. Merlin. I know you, you know me—we're friends, really good friends. Don't ever feel like you can't talk to me; I want to hear it, I want to hear all of it. Come talk to me, don't just shut yourself in your room all day. Please."

Alex nodded and shuffled off to his room, and Colin wasn't entirely convinced that the other man had really heard him.


End file.
